Curses, Foiled Again 2: The Electric Boogaloo
by nicnac918
Summary: Harry might not be at the Dursley's any more, but Voldemort isn't going to let that stop his completely ineffectual murder attempts. He's just going to have to get a little creative is all.


AN: You guys asked for more crack, so more crack you shall have.

* * *

Harry was having dreams. Dreams wherein he was a boy named Tom, and he had used magic to Confund a family in Hogsmeade into thinking that he was their nephew come to stay with them and into ignoring him when he got carried away and made pronouncements about being Lord Voldemort come to kill Harry Potter. Not only was the content of these dreams extremely unusual, they were much more vivid than most of his dreams, and his scar always hurt when he woke up after having them.

Naturally, Harry ignored them completely.

* * *

The first weekend they were allowed to go down to Hogsmeade it was raining out, and so The Three Broomsticks was predictably crowded. Harry waved Ron and Hermione on to go find them seats while he went up to order butterbeer for them all.

Halfway across the room Harry bumped into a server carrying a tray. He turned to apologize to the man when realized he knew this person. "Voldemort! What are you doing here?"

"Taking these to table three; Uncle Alex said I had to get I job if I wanted any spending money," Voldemort answered absent-mindedly.

"No," Harry corrected, "I meant what are you doing in Hogsmeade?"

"Oh, that. Isn't it obvious? I'm here to put an end to your miserable life once and for all, Potter!" This was shouted loud enough that everyone in the whole pub must have heard it, but no one reacted, save the man at a table the two of them were standing next to, who only chuckled, shaking his head and muttering something about "good old Tom."

Then Voldemort gently set the tray down, and pulled an AK-47 out from under his robes. Harry found himself wondering where in the world Voldemort had gotten it, both in the grander purchasing sense and in the more immediate sense of where he had it stashed on himself, though the latter gave Harry images that he was going to be repressing for life. He wasn't particularly worried though, at first because he didn't think the gun would even work and later, when it was proven that guns were not, in fact, sufficiently technologically advanced to be stopped by the magic forcefield or whatever that covered Hogwarts and the surrounding area, because Voldemort was a horrible shot. After about 40 or 50 bullets, Harry wasn't sure exactly, the gun's magazine was empty, and the closest that Voldemort had gotten to hitting Harry were the handful of holes riddling the wall behind him rather than the ceiling.

"Curses!" Voldemort exclaimed, throwing the now empty gun on the ground.

"If we have to pay someone to fix that, then it's coming out of your paycheck Tom!" called an irate female voice.

"Yes Madam Rosmerta," Voldemort responded, visibly rolling his eyes. "This is all your fault Potter."

"You're the one who was trying to kill me," Harry pointed out calmly. It was amazing how a summer of attempts on your life could make you incredibly blasé about the whole thing.

"It's still your fault."

Harry, having learned better than to try to argue with the logic of a crazed psychopathic megalomaniac, changed the subject. "You still haven't told me what you're doing in Hogsmeade."

"I'm here to put an end to your miserable life once and for all, Potter!" Voldemort repeated.

This time the guy next to them outright laughed, and another voice from across the room called out, "Don't ever change, Tom!"

"My wrath and rule shall be unceasing, unchanging, and eternal!" Voldemort called back.

"Atta boy!"

"Yeah, I got that part of it," Harry interjected, "but I thought you were going to stay at the Dursley's until next summer?"

"Forcing those filthy Muggles to bend to my will got boring without attempts to murder you to add variety," Voldemort told him.

"You do realize that if you do manage to kill me-"

"_When_ I manage to kill you," Voldemort corrected.

"Whatever. The point is that's what every day will be like afterwards," said Harry.

Voldemort waved off Harry's statement. "No, I'll just find another child to chase after and kill. Your concern is noted though."

"It's not really _concern_-"

"Oi, mate!"

Harry turned to see Ron and Hermione sitting at a table and waving him over. Harry looked back at Voldemort, intending on excuse himself, only to have Voldemort say "Well? Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?"

Harry allowed himself to be phased for about half a second or so, before shrugging and just going with it. "Yeah sure, come on."

"Ron, Hermione," Harry said once he had reached his friends table and slid into a seat, "this is Voldemort. Voldemort, these are my friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley."

Hermione smiled at him and offered her hand to shake. "Pleased to meet you-"

"You're still hanging out with the blood traitor and the Mudblood?" Voldemort interrupted. "I thought we agreed you'd get better friends."

"_I_ never agreed to anything," Harry said, but Voldemort steamrolled right over him.

"Like that Longbottom boy, maybe. Or the Diggorys have a boy about your age don't they?"

"Cedric?" Harry said incredulously. "You had Wormtail kill him barely three months ago!"

"Oh, was that Spare? Shame."

"Didn't you have some tables to wait on or something?" Harry asked desperately.

"Right," Voldemort agreed. "I'll be back to kill you more later, Potter."

"Fine, whatever," said Harry.

"You know Harry," Hermione commented once Voldemort was out of earshot, "he doesn't seem like a very nice person."

"Yeah," chimed in Ron, "what was with him calling Hermione a you-know-what?"

"He also called you a blood traitor and threatens to kill me on a regular basis," Harry offered.

"Exactly. You know, Ron and I are both glad you're still willing to get out and make new friends after everything that happened, but maybe you should find someone a little less…"

"Awful?" Harry suggested. "Trust me guys, I don't want to spend any time with him."

"I hope not," Ron said reproachfully. "Hey, did you get the drinks?"

At that, Harry dropped his head on the table in defeat. In a show of miraculously good timing, less than a second later a crossbow bolt embedded itself in the back of his chair.

"Curses!"

"You're fixing that chair Tom!"

"CURSES!"

* * *

Sequel is "Curses Foiled Again 3: The Princess' Rondo" (Story ID: 8559227)


End file.
